The Sociopath and The Bloody Amnesiac
by XxPikaSixJoyxX
Summary: Sherlock and John arrive back at 221B after solving their latest case to find an unconscious woman, covered in blood, slumped in the bath. The renowned detective decides to help this woman, who awakes with no recollection of who she is or what happened to her, against John's better judgement. Unbeknownst to them, the game is more complicated than they realise... Sherlock/OC
1. Out of My Zone

**AN: So here we are, my latest story and the first story that I've written for this fandom (can you call it a fandom? I guess so...right?).**

 **I usually get nervous when it comes to posting new stories especially when it's based on a show I don't usually write for.**

 **To be honest, I don't really know when the idea for this story came to me, but I thought it would be a good idea. Seems to be going pretty well at the moment.**

 **Well, let's get to it.**

 **Hope you all enjoy it!**

 **Disclaimer: With the exception of the OC in this story, I do not own any of the characters used, they belong to the brilliant, amazing minds that are Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss.**

* * *

 **Chapter One – Out of My Zone**

"John, I've already explained this." Sherlock sighed, exasperated as he descended the stairs, John close behind him. "The cause of death was not strangulation, as Lestrade's idiotic team decided to inform the deceased relatives without even concluding anything with me. Honestly, how can a group of forensic scientists be so blind? It was plain to see, it was a good thing that I was even there, or else it would have been another case they'd ha-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted, breaking the sociopath from one of his usual tangents.

"It was exactly what I had predicted from the moment I entered the scene. The man died from inert gas asphyxiation but because of the hand marks, which he left, around his neck due to the fact he could not breathe it looked as though he had been strangled."

John stopped and ran over the events of their latest case in his head, remembering the details of the way in which they found the victim. He remembered the man's eyes, wide with fear and almost as though they were going to pop from their sockets and he shuddered.

"How many times go I have to go through this?" Sherlock moaned, "Go and ask Mrs Hudson about her favourite brand of biscuits if you want such a repetitive conversation…"

Sherlock came to a stop as he reached his front door. It happened so quickly that John had only realised at the last moment bumped into Sherlock's out-stretched hand.

"What the…?" John asked, only to be silenced by a sharp look from his friend.

John watched as Sherlock knelt down and swiped a finger through the small red pool on the floor. He brought the sticky substance to his nose and inhaled, the smell confirming what he had known from the second they had entered the building moments ago.

"Is that…?" John frowned.

"Shh!" Sherlock hushed as he stood up to push the already open door further ajar.

The room was untouched, a quick scan of the room told him that nothing of any value had been taken, so he crossed burglar off his mental list of possible intruders. Using the droplets on the floor as a guide, the two men made their way into the flat, heading towards the open plan kitchen.

"Sherlock." John called, pointing towards the sink.

The detective turned his head and noticed the red liquid that covered the sink and the taps. He quickly spotted the missing glass from the draining board, filled with the washing up Mrs Hudson had done earlier.

"Stay back, John." Sherlock warned, gesturing for him not to move.

"Why? Who's in ther-?"

"Stay. Back." He repeated, his firm tone giving the doctor to do as he was told.

John sighed as he trudged back towards his chair and slumped into it. He hated it whenever Sherlock told him to stay away from things. The man was more than capable of handling himself. A small smile worked its way across John's face as he realised that Sherlock was just trying to keep him safe.

" _You can be nice after all, Sherlock."_

Sherlock continued on towards his bedroom, but quickly backtracked turning to face the bathroom door. His entire flat smelt of blood, sweat and tears, but as he stood outside the bathroom there was one smell he knew instantly. Fear.

He paused and carefully reached for the handle, his hand enclosing the cold silver metal. He applied just enough pressure to slowly open the door, the muffled sound of running water becoming clearer as he entered the room, closing the door behind him. He was greeted with a young woman slumped in the bath. The overwhelming smell of blood spilled out into the hallway, but he didn't care. He was sure Mrs Hudson had a can of air freshener somewhere. Within seconds, he shuffled out of his jacket, knelt down beside the bath and was taking her pulse.

He had to admit, it surprised him when he found it to be at a slow, continuous pace. Another quick scan and he deduced that she had to have been in her current position for at least 4 hours, at least. He moved fingers and clasped her hand, she was unconscious but he knew that if she were to wake within the next few minutes, the contact would be a source of comfort to her.

"It's alright. You're going to be alright."

He wasn't entirely sure if she could hear him, he remembered John would always say it to those they found in a compromising position, even though he didn't see the point. But given the current circumstances, he felt that it was one to those it could be used. He concluded that it was another form of comfort. Something Sherlock didn't have a PHD in.

He shifted his weight slightly so that he could grab a towel and a flannel from the basket under the sink, dropping the flannel into the pool of water that surrounded her feet.

The missing glass was now in shards in her free hand and Sherlock had finally solved the puzzle as to how she had ended up in the bath.

"Sherlock!" John called, breaking Sherlock from his mind palace.

"John, go and check on Mrs Hudson and bring me some newspaper!"

Rolling up his sleeves, Sherlock wrung out the flannel and proceeded to wash off the veil of blood that covered her slim frame. By the time John had arrived with the newspaper, Sherlock had completely cleared the blood off her chocolate skin, the water in the bath now a deep red.

"Don't come in!" Sherlock snapped as he heard John pull on the handle. "Just leave it on the floor outside please."

" _Please?"_ John frowned. " _Please? He never says please. Well, only to Mrs Hudson, he knows she'd kill him if he didn't, but not to me. What the bloody hell's going on?"_

John decided not to ask, he knew that whatever it was, Sherlock could handle it, instead he let the newspaper fall to the ground with a loud slap before returning back to his seat. He couldn't understand why Sherlock wouldn't let him inside the bathroom. He had already worked out that whoever was there was covered in blood, he had followed the same droplets as Sherlock. Perhaps it was someone John knew?

A thought he quickly shook out of his head, Sherlock couldn't have known everyone John knew, and he didn't really have that many people he counted as close friends. So it couldn't have been anyone he knew. Whoever was in there, he was sure he'd find out soon enough.

Sherlock opened the door to grab hold of the newspaper before returning to his position at the side of the bath, his hand clasping that of the unconscious woman. He opened up the paper and reached over the bath, taking hold of the broken shards which lay in her hand. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she squeezed his hand.

"It's not mine!"

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, dropping the shards he had in shock.

"It's not mine." She repeated, shaking her head.

"What isn't?"

"It's not mine." she said for a third time, holding his gaze for a few seconds before falling back into her unconscious slumber.

Sherlock continued with his task, rolling up the newspaper into a ball and throwing it into the bin behind him. He quickly stripped her of wet clothing, deciding to keep her underwear on. He was sure she wouldn't be too happy to find someone had stripped her naked whilst she was unconscious, even if it was with good intentions. Turning on the shower, Sherlock cleaned off as much of the blood as he could, remembering to be as soft and careful as he could. He could still feel the sense of fear that was emanating from her and he didn't want to do anything to make it worse.

* * *

He emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, the woman now in his arms, her head on his shoulder, wrapped in his jacket for an extra layer of warmth. He could hear the sound of John's foot tapping its usual rhythmic beat, shaking his head before kicking open the door to his bedroom, sending a booming echo through the small hall.

"What the bloody hell was that?" John shrieked, jumping out of his chair.

"Oh, do relax, John. If your life was in danger, I highly doubt it would involve me kicking down the door to my bedroom now, would it?"

"You know; I beg to differ on that. I do recall Mary telling me of how you pulled burning logs from a bonfire to save me." John smirked, as he made his way into the bedroom.

His mouth fell open as he saw Sherlock sat by the side of his bed, moving damp strands of her hair away from her eyes. He stood there in shock, simply watching as his friend continued to be as delicate as possible with his task of putting her under the covers.

"Sherlock…there's a woman in your house." John finally said, pointing.

"I can see that, John."

"She's in your bed."

"I put her here."

"She's in your coat."

"Yes, John. I put her in it."

"She's unconscious."

"I know, John."

"Who is she?"

"I don't know," Sherlock answered, shaking his head. "But I need you to check her over."

John looked up at his friend on the opposite side of the room and frowned.

"Wait so, let me get this straight, there's an unconscious woman in your flat, in your bed, in _**your**_ jacket and you have no idea who she is?"

"John, if I did, I wouldn't exactly what her to be spending time unconscious and covered in blood in the bath unless I wanted her like that. Can you check her ov-"

"You know the last woman who was in your flat, in your bed and in your jacket ended up dead."

"Well, thank you for reminding me of that John. You know I'm not one to re-visit the past. Now, are you goi-"

"And, not to mention, she just so happened to have top secret documents, which she stole from your brother only to give them to Moriarty, who she just so happened to be working fo-"

"When you are done informing me of events I have been present at, perhaps it might be a good idea for you to shut up and check her over for any injuries. Is that something you happen to be capable of doing, Doctor Watson?"

John was taken aback by Sherlock's outburst. He never called him Doctor Watson. Well, he rarely ever did. He hadn't meant to push his buttons, it was just the fact that, based from past events, every time a woman Sherlock knows has ended up in his bed it hasn't ever ended well for the woman. He didn't want the same thing to happen again. Not after the way Sherlock felt for the last woman who was here.

"It is." He replied, apologetic.

"Good, then I suggest you begin then, don't you?" Sherlock said as he left the room, and headed down to Mrs Hudson, the bag of damp clothing that belonged to the nameless woman inhabiting his bedroom in hand.

* * *

By the time he returned, John was in the hall about to close the door to his bedroom.

"Hold on, John." Sherlock called, quickly scooting past him and back into his room. "I don't believe it would be good for her to wake up alone."

"Point taken." John smiled, heading back into the room and sitting on the window sill.

Sherlock dumped the bag at the end of the bed and rested the back of his hand on her forehead.

"Diagnosis?"

"She's got a fractured wrist, a few cracked ribs, a concussion and a strained calf muscle, which means it's going to be hell for her when she comes to put weight on her leg. Nothing a few days' rest won't fix."

Sherlock nodded in thanks, which John matched with a nod of his own, and the two men looked at the woman in between them, sound asleep.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't the kind of man to comment of a woman's beauty unless it was related to an investigation. Yet there was something about this woman that intrigued him. Perhaps, it was the mixed smell of blood and fear he had caught on to as he arrived home. It seemed to ignite his usual senses. Not to mention the fact that he had a number of questions to ask her as well, stupid ones, that under the usual circumstances he would have been able to figured out himself. But if he was going to be any help to her, then he needed to ask them all the same.

He frowned and ran a hand through the curly mop that was his hair. Usually whenever anyone arrived at his house without his knowledge, he ended up in some kind crazy spider web of a mystery. Yet, as he looked upon her sleeping form, he couldn't help but think wrong place, wrong time. Why? He wasn't entirely sure, and that frustrated him more than anything. Well, that and not having anything to do.

"Any ID?" John asked, breaking Sherlock's train of thought.

"Nope," he answered, popping the 'p'. "Mrs Hudson didn't come up to check what had happened. She thought the loud thud from the bathroom was us."

"What did she think we were doing?"

"Hiding a body for Lestrade."

John shook his head and let a strained laugh pass through his lips.

" _Well, to be honest, she isn't far off."_

He wasn't that surprised with her answer, with the amount of stuff John had seen since working with Sherlock, he imagined that Mrs Hudson must have heard all sorts of things since Sherlock had inhabited this humble abode. He went to ask a question but his phone rang and he reached into his pocket to see it was Mary.

"It's urm…"

"Go ahead, John. It's probably important," Sherlock said, placing the back of his hand on the lady's forehead.

John nodded and headed for the hall, turning around to pull the door shut. As he did, he caught Sherlock do something he had never seen him do before.

"John?" Mary called from the other end, "John, are you alright? John?"

"Hmm…what?"

"Are you alright? I tried calling you earlier but you weren't picking up."

"Yeah, I'm…I'm fine." He replied, closing the door.

The woman's temperature was normal, and her pulse was still as it was when he had first found her. He reached for the bandaged hand that held the broken glass shards and turned it over to inspect the damage. He nodded, satisfied with how it looked. The bleeding had stopped and he ran his thumb slowly across the small gash in her palm.

It was odd, this kind of contact was new to him, yet he felt comfortable enough doing so all the while. he reached forward and ran a hand down her cheek. As his fingers made contact, a sharp jolt ran through his hand and he snapped it back as a reflex. His eyebrows furrowed as he felt some kind of familiarity with everything that was happening right now and it was putting him on edge. There was something about her that he recognised. He knew her from somewhere, he was sure of it. He just wasn't sure where or when. Either way, whoever this woman was, Sherlock had already decided he was going to help in whatever way he could.

* * *

 **The Next Morning**

Mrs Hudson poured her third cup of tea, by the time the woman had finished her first. She wasn't really one for tea, but she drank it out of courtesy. She had emerged from the bathroom to find the housekeeper, a fact she had refuted throughout the entire conversation, clearing the kitchen table and setting a tray of two cups on the table. She had already started talking about something to do with her husband but the woman was paying no attention. She was thinking back to the moment she entered the bathroom after waking up this morning.

There was something about the bathroom that seemed vaguely familiar, but she was sure she had never seen it before.

The blood she was sure had covered the tub had disappeared, the glass she had broken was gone. And yet, the bathroom was spotless. It looked as though no one had even stepped in it from the day they moved in.

" _You're going to be alright."_

That voice…there was something about it that seemed to calm her…intrigue her.

" _Don't come in!"_

And then a hand…

She looked down at her hand and looked at the gash that stretched across her palm. She remembered the soft touch of someone removing the shards that lay in her hand. It was all her mind could remember, the hands that ran down her arms, whoever they belonged to, she was sure they were strong.

They had to have been, she was sure someone had carried her into the bed. She had no recollection of how she got there. The last thing she remembered was squeezing someone's hand with all her might.

Mrs Hudson shook her head and poured a fourth cup of tea, handing the woman her cup, which she had re-filled, before taking a sip of her own.

"I'll tell you what, he makes such a mess that boy." She sighed, as she looked around the room. "I'm always telling him where to put things and how to keep them clean but he never listens. Sometimes, I think he's deaf. He probably isn't, he does hear me but only when he wants to. It's like I'm looking after a child, and I don't even know what that's like. I don't have any kids. My husband was executed before we even spoke about it."

The woman watched as Mrs Hudson had downed her cup and reached for the biscuits, popping one into her mouth. Part of her was worried that there was something in the tea, Mrs Hudson was drinking so much and that she wondered whether it was just to spur her on, to drink more of her own. Perhaps, it was just because of how much she talked. The only thing she had said was "nice to meet you" after Mrs Hudson had introduced herself.

There probably wasn't the woman she was sitting next to looked completely harmless, but she couldn't take the risk all the same.

"But then again, I suppose that working for the police will force you to neglect the state of your house. I mean, the hours he spends out of the house…"

"I'm sorry, but who are you talking about?"

"Well, Sherlock, dear." She replied, almost laughing. "I mean; you did spend last night in his bed. Did he not introduce himself?"

The woman's mouth fell open and she frowned, annoyed that Mrs Hudson's immediate thought of her was so low.

"No, he wasn't there when I woke up." She replied, biting the inner corner of her mouth to stop her from giving a passive retort.

Mrs Hudson shook her head, and headed over to the kitchen sink, taking the tray with her.

"That's unlike him. The last woman he had in his bed told me that he always made sure to say goodbye before he left. But then I suppose that's because they were dating."

Mrs Hudson was so busy talking that she had forgotten to take the cup from the woman's hand. She looked up at Mrs Hudson, who was still going on about the nature of why she had been in Sherlock's room, and waited until her back was fully turned before letting go and watching as the china ornament fell to the floor, smashing into a million pieces.

"I…I'm so sorry," she apologised, getting on her knees to pick up the shards. "I wasn't watching and I must have knocked it off the table. I'm so sorry."

"No, don't worry." Mrs Hudson smiled, joining her with a dustpan and brush. "Sherlock's always shooting at that blasted smiley face on the wall. These were a present from my husband's mistress, so it's no bother to me. I've been meaning to get rid of them."

The woman held back an inner sigh as she held Mrs Hudson clear up the mess. But, at least it got her to stop talking. If only for a moment.

"You know, I've been going on and on so long that I've forgotten to ask who you are. What's your name, my dear?"

The woman opened her mouth to answer but her mind went blank. For some reason, she couldn't think of what to say. She tried again, only to come up short a second time.

The harder she tried to rack her brain, the more her head began to ache.

" _What the hell was going on?"_

She couldn't have forgotten her name, surely?

She tried to think back past arriving at the flat but she got nothing. It was as if her brain had switched itself off. Even the memories she had of being in this flat were pretty vague. She knew nothing, not a single thing. It was like the recollection part of her brain didn't exist or was going through some sort of troubleshooting. Her mind just didn't seem to be functioning as it should. The harder she tried to think, the harder her head began to throb. She didn't remember falling and hitting her head, so something else had to have happened.

How does one forget their own name?

She'd hit her head before and been in all kinds of scrapes but never none that on a level where she couldn't remember her name.

This was something else, entirely. Something that she had never known before and that scared her more than anything. Not to mention she was already on edge as it was. This was a whole new level of complicated she was now going to have to deal with. And the only person who could help her, was the man who owned the very flat she was now in.

Mrs Hudson reached over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, breaking her thoughts.

"Everything alright, my dear?"

"I…I don't… I don't know. I don't know."

* * *

 **Mycroft's Office – Central London**

"I hate it when he does that," Sherlock snapped, pulling up the collar of his coat as he stepped out of the car.

"Sherlock, it's your brother, he's always going to do that." John told him, following his friend.

John was referring to the car that had picked them up outside of their house when they left this morning. Sherlock always felt as though Mycroft was summoning him whenever his car arrived, and most of the time he was right. Not just that, it meant that Mycroft had caught wind of what Sherlock was up to and that never worked out to be good. Their conversations at office typically ended with Sherlock scolded for getting involved in business that did not involve him. Which, in simple terms, translated to "stay out of my business," something that neither of them ever heeded. Besides, it was very rare that Mycroft ever truly warned Sherlock to stay out of stuff, with the exception of what happened with Moriarty.

The two partners made their way into the building, ascending the stairs, reaching the floor that lead to Mycroft's office. They walked down the hall, past the desk of his personal assistant, Anthea, sitting behind her desk typing away.

"He's in a meeting," she told them, not even raising her head from the screen.

"My brother only says that when he doesn't want to see me." Sherlock replied, breezing into his brother's office.

Mycroft locked eyes with his brother and sighed, shaking his head as the two entered the office. Sherlock came to a stop and locked eyes with his brother, John managing to stop himself just in time before he bumped into him.

"Sherlock."

"Mycroft."

Neither brother said anything and John coughed, sliding past Sherlock and into the room. The usual stand-off between them was nothing unusual, but John wasn't in the mood to sit and watch them today. He coughed, breaking Mycroft's gaze, and stepped out from behind Sherlock and into the room.

"Ah, Dr Watson, please sit down." He greeted, gesturing to the chairs opposite his desk, John sitting down in one of them. "What brings you both here?"

Sherlock stopped pacing and turned look at his older brother.

"Oh please, don't act like you're oblivious. It was your car that brought us here."

Mycroft popped a cigarette into his mouth and pulled a lighter out of his pocket, lighting the object and taking a few puffs before speaking.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he finally replied, blowing a puff smoke in his brother's direction.

Sherlock had to hold his breath in an attempt not to inhale the smoke. He was already wearing three nicotine patches on his arm as it was, he didn't need any more. Well, at least not today anyway. Besides, that wasn't why he was here.

"Oh, come on, Mycroft," he snapped. "You don't normally send your car unless it's something serious. How stupid do you think I am?"

"I think we both know the answer to that, Sherlock. Don't you?" Mycroft smirked, which he followed with a cool laugh.

He was teasing them and they all knew it. It seemed to be something Mycroft loved to do.

"Now, why don't you sit down and tell me why you're really here?"

John rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the leather armrests, the material shrieking underneath him as his fingers enclosed the wood underneath. Every time John was here it was becoming harder and harder to resist punch him.

"I don't need to sit down."

"Don't be like that, Sherlock. We're all adults, we can have an adult conversation surely?"

" _Sometimes, he can be a right twat."_ John thought as he looked at Sherlock, watching as his friend decided to start pacing the room.

"Look, when you two are done scoring points, can we just get to why you called us, please?" John retorted, to which Mycroft nodded.

The less they had to spend here, the better.

"I believe I would be correct in assuming that you came to ask for my help?"

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What in the world was he talking about?

"Your help? Wh-What are you talking about?"

Mycroft looked at John as though he was stupid. He flicked his gaze between the pair opposite him and realised that Sherlock had not told him the full truth of the matter. A cold smirk worked its way across the government operative's face and he took another puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the air before he answered.

"Ah, I see, and what is it that you require of me?"

John tilted his head and frowned. Something seemed off. Mycroft knew something…either that or he already knew why they were there. It was like reading a brick wall. The man was so secretive it frustrated him more than he wanted to admit.

"I need access to the MI5 database."

"Well, you already know I can't give that to you. That's clearance that not even I have."

"But it's clearance you can get." Sherlock said, completely unfazed.

An awkward silence held through the room and John shifted in his chair for a second time, wanting to be out of there as soon as. Sherlock turned and looked at his brother, seeing through his lie. He knew what Mycroft was waiting to hear and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing it come from him. Mycroft most likely already knew the reason why Sherlock was there, if he didn't, he was certain he would before the day was out.

"Sherlock, even if I did, and I'm most certainly not saying that I can, but if I did get you that clearance why on earth would you want it for? It's not as though you're working on a case."

Sherlock ran a hand through his dark brown curls and the corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide a smile. He had caught him.

"Well, actually Mycroft, that's exactly what it's for."

"It is?"

"It is?" John repeated, turning to face his former house mate, a look of confusion flooding his face.

Sherlock was always one to take cases without consulting John, but he was usually in the room when that happened, so he knew what it was they were doing. The last he knew the mysterious woman who was now a resident in their (even though John no longer lived there, he was there more than enough that it pretty much was his flat as much as it was Sherlock's) flat hadn't explained anything that they felt necessary to investigate. Well, not that John knew anyway.

What the heck was Sherlock playing at?

Before John could even ask Sherlock what his game plan was, the detective was already speaking.

"It doesn't matter, clearly I can see you're not in the position to help us. I'll leave you to it, Mycroft." Sherlock told him, heading for the door. "Come on, John. The game is on."

John flicked his gaze between the two brothers, taking notice of Mycroft's confused expression before jumping up out of his seat and running down the hall to catch up with the renowned detective. Whatever Sherlock had planned or was thinking of doing, John was certain Sherlock would inform of in due course. Mycroft waited until he was sure his brother was out of earshot before lifting the receiver of the phone on his desk and quickly dialling a number.

"Anthea, I need you to arrange something for me."

* * *

 **221B Baker Street**

"Oh, Sherlock! There you two are!" Mrs Hudson greeted as the two walked into the flat.

The woman was sitting on the sofa, holding a cup of tea the landlady, she was now claiming her role was, had made her. Her eyes locked with Sherlock's and she pushed herself forward to the edge of her seat as though she wanted to run and throw her arms around him but she couldn't bring herself to move. Not right now, at least.

"Yes, hello, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock nonchalantly huffed, throwing his jacket over his chair before ushering her towards the front door. "Get out now, please. I need to talk to our guest, if you don't mind."

"Well, that's what I want to talk to you about."

Sherlock whipped around to face Mrs Hudson, a look of confusion on his face.

"And, why would you want to do that?"

"To tell you something, of course."

"Which is what, exactly, Mrs Hudson?" John asked, as Sherlock sighed.

He hated it whenever Mrs Hudson felt as though she needed to involve herself in their investigations. To him, that wasn't her place.

"She doesn't remember her name. In fact, she doesn't remember anything."

Sherlock, who was making his way towards the bathroom, came to a stop. He turned to look at the woman, frozen in place. She looked traumatised by the revelation.

"She doesn't remember her name?" John repeated, immediately suspicious.

"Poor girl hasn't said a word since I asked her what it was."

The war veteran turned to look at her and saw Sherlock knelt in front of her staring into her eyes, he had gone into his mind palace. He was trying to see what information he could gather.

" _Are you sure she's not just saying that?"_ John wanted to ask but he knew better than to disturb Sherlock when he was in his mind palace. Any chance he could avoid being on the receiving end of one of his gazes that tore apart your soul, he would take.

"All I did was ask her what her name was, and she went into some kind of trance. I didn't mean the scare the poor girl. She seems traumatized, bless her."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock finally spoke jumping up and ushering her out of the door. "Perhaps, you can go do some cleaning now."

"That does remind me I've got some washing I need to put out. You know, Sherlock, you really should keep better care of this place, you kn-"

"Yes, goodbye," he interrupted, closing the door once she was out into the hall, John rolling his eyes as Sherlock pivoted and turned back to look at the woman, still on the sofa.

"Right, now back to what's important."

"Yes, the case we're supposed to have taken, I presume?" John spoke before Sherlock could start going off on some tangent that he was later going to have to ask him to explain in simpler terms.

"Yes, John. What did you think we were doing?" Sherlock asked, his voice cold and sharp.

"Well, that depends."

Sherlock frowned and turned look at his best friend, unsure of where John was going with his point.

"I assume you're going to explain, so I don't really need to ask "what on," do I?"

Sighing, the doctor folded his arms and began pacing. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, all he knew right now was that he was frustrated. Well, actually he was more annoyed, or was he both? He couldn't really tell. The one thing he did know was that he wasn't happy with Sherlock at all.

This entire situation seemed odd, too coincidental and that never happened. There was no such thing as coincidence. Things just didn't happen without reason. Not on this scale, anyway.

"Just when exactly were you going to tell me that we had a new case?"

"When I had figured out exactly what it was we were getting ourselves into."

"And what is that?" John asked, to which he was given no answer. "Do you even know?"

"Not entirely, no."

John couldn't help but laugh. Typical. To be honest, he wasn't surprised. Sherlock always seemed to jump into cases without checking what it was exactly he was getting himself involved in. It was just as he said he was "married to his work" and there was nothing anyone could do about it. He lived for the thrill and the mystery.

"But I do know one thing." Sherlock said, almost smirking.

"Which is?"

"My brother knows something, and whatever it is, he doesn't want me to know."

He could tell that John was angry and he didn't like that. It wasn't until he saw the anger in John's eyes did he realise, he had forgotten to let him in on the plan. But he quickly remembered why.

"So, you failed to tell me this because…?"

"Well, I wasn't sure, at first, but it wasn't until I saw his reaction to when I asked for access to the database, were my suspicions confirmed. I needed to be sure first."

The woman wasn't sure what to do, she felt awkward watching the two of them. Listening to them argue, knowing that she was the catalyst behind it.

The guilt filled her instantly, she could already tell that she had stepped into something that was way out of her comfort zone. She wanted to get up and get out of whatever mess she had stumbled across but she had she nowhere else to go. She had nothing, no money, no name, no address. Nothing at all. All that her life was now belonged in these four walls. So until she was able to figure something out, until she could gather up some kind of stability with whatever her life was at the moment, her life was entirely in the hands of these two men. The mere thought of which put her on even more of an edge than she was now.

* * *

 **AN: There we have it! First chapter done and dusted. I hope that wasn't too confusing, I know I did mention "the woman" a lot but I will be revealing her name in a later chapter, which will certainly make things a lot easier. But until then, bear with me if you can.**

 **I might change the ending, I feel as though it wasn't as...not climatic but...urm, hard-hitting, I suppose is probably the best word? Who knows? Knowing me, I'll probably leave it (I wasn't sure whether to put P.S. but then seeing as I've put this AN I guess that already makes this a P.S, doesn't it? You'd think after 4 years of being on here I'd have figured out how to write these by now, but...nope! Now I'm rambling...opps =P).**

 **Don't forget to favourite and review!**

 **Feel free to check out my other stories, or send me a PM!**

 **See you all soon!**

 **XxPikaSixJoyxX**


	2. Not Entirely Sure

**AN: So here I am with the next chapter. Sorry for the long delay. This took me a little while longer to write than usual.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _The hairs on the back of her neck were already standing and she could feel her skin growing colder with each minute that passed. She shifted her weight and heard the rattling sound of handcuffs. Turning her head, she looked at the pipe she was attached to and sighed. The pipe had to go at least twelve feet deep and was double the size of your average household pipe. There was no getting away from it._

 _Great._

 _Not to mention, the handcuffs were old-school. Ones you'd find in the Elizabethan era. So, that made things all the more frustrating. She went to lead her head back against the wall behind her, only to whip it forward and spit out the blood that had filled her mouth. The revolting smell still hanging off her senses. It was then that her jaw began to ache. The kind that you only got after a punch. It told her two things, the first she had almost certainly been in a kerfuffle and that she was definitely not here of her own free will._

 _Suddenly, the eerie quiet atmosphere was broken by the muffled sound of their feet passing by the door a few metres away. Someone was here, but wasn't couldn't tell if there was more than one. The placement, or lack thereof, of each step told her this was a job said person was not enjoying. She wanted to call out to them, to see exactly who she was dealing with, but she had no energy to open her mouth let alone speak. Her brain was already having enough trouble making any sense of what was going on. From what she could tell it was night, late and cold. She could just about make out the goose bumps that ran over her arms as a result of the temperature. Her head felt heavier than usual and she couldn't tell whether it was because her hair, which was clumped together as though it had been doused in oil or some form of sticky substance, was wet or if she had hit her head at some point._

 _Her eyes squinted as she tried to adjust the minimal amount of light that was seeping into the room from underneath the door across the other side. She could just about make out the pipe she was handcuffed to, but it didn't matter because she wasn't going anywhere. It was pointless her even trying to form some form of escape plan. She couldn't even see her feet, let alone make out the dimensions of the room she was in. The only thing that told her was that it was night time, either that or they were underground._

 _Yet another uncertainty._

 _She shuffled forward, using her feet to feel around the floor for anything that could help her, only to find nothing. The voices still yammering on in the hall. Shuffling back to the wall, she reached into her trouser pockets and found a hair grip, a perfect lock picking tool. Just as she brought the grip to her mouth, the voices stopped and the door to her confinement was opened. In walked two dark figures, who unlocked the handcuffs from around the pipe, so they could bring her to her feet. A hand slithered around her forearm, and she immediately reacted by throwing her head forward, head-butting the man in front of her. A harsh growl passed through his lips, echoing through the room as he pulled himself off the floor._

" _Get up!" He snapped, seizing her hair and pulling her to feet._

 _Using the split second she lashed out with her foot, aiming for his gut but she had misjudged his position and caught him in the chest. The force of which knocked him back a few steps, allowing her time to readjust, but any chance of a follow-up she had in mind was countered by the second figure taking hold of her arms and exposing her midriff so the man she had kicked could deliver a powerful punch to her gut. The flew out of her lungs just as fast as it came in, and she immediately found herself struggling to breathe. The man pulled her head up to look at him, only to strike her across the face with an aggressive punch._

 _Blood spilled into her mouth as the man left out a hefty laugh of satisfaction. The sound of his laughter ringing in her ears. His coarse hands reached for her face and she could feel his breath on her skin, so she knew he was close. Now was her chance and she took it, spitting out the sticky substance straight into his face, quickly following up with an elbow to the guy behind her. He threw his arms around her waist, cutting off her air supply as he hoisted her into the air spinning her away from her assailant. She used the momentum to kick the guy in his face, timing it perfectly, smiling as his large and now unconscious form to the floor with a loud thud._

 _One down, one to go. All she had to do was deal with the man who still had her enclosed in a bear hug. She took the time to control her breathing, it was already laboured because of her current position, but the altercation she had just engaged in had taken her for six because of her lack of breath. Thanks to the sheer constraint of his hold, she could feel the air seeping in and out of her lungs, with every breath she struggled to take. If she didn't do something soon, she was sure she was going to pass out, and that certainly didn't spell good for her. She lashed out again with her elbow, but she was too weak and his misjudged what she thought was his gut for his hip, only angering him as he tightened his hold. He turned and headed out into the hall, smirking as she hissed once they emerged into the harsh light, her eyes having to adjust to the lights above her. As the two made their way down the hall, a wave of fear took over her thoughts. Something seemed off, despite the fact she was in captivity. A strange sense of familiarity was taking her over. Before she could even try and make any sense of what was going on, he pivoted and kicked down the door, throwing her into a room._

 _She groaned as she slapped onto the cold surface, closing her eyes as she was slightly grateful to be out of the dark cage she had been trapped in for goodness knows how long. She lifted her head and pulled herself onto her knees, only to be greeted with a large trough of water and two more guards standing at either end, staring with an emotionless gaze._

" _Move," the guard who had brought her in huffed, his foot slamming into the middle of her back, sending her face first to the floor again._

 _She whipped her head around and scowled at him, un-impressed with his so-called bravado._

" _You're not going to remove these?" She asked, gesturing to her handcuffs, still in place behind her back._

" _Move." He repeated._

 _Somehow, she managed to slide towards the trough and kneel against it for support. Following her, the man knelt beside her squeezing her cheeks as a cold, hard smile etched its way across his face._

" _Tell us what Project Crystal is."_

 _She frowned, confusion flooding her every thought._

" _I already told you. I don't. Know."_

 _Glancing over to his right, the man shrugged and seized the back of her neck, readying her for the water._

" _This is the only way I can think of getting her to wake up," he said as he plunged her head into the water._

* * *

 **Speedy's Café – Baker Street**

Her eyes shot open and she found herself looking at the ceiling.

"Ah, see John? She's perfectly alright." Sherlock confirmed, the smug tone to his voice causing John to sigh as they both peered down to her.

She propped herself up onto her elbows and could feel the eyes of everyone in the café staring at her in confusion. The small hubbub of whispers fluttering in different parts of the café. One man even had his phone out and there was no doubt he was recording. Sherlock was knelt beside her, eyes focused on hers to keep her calm.

"What…happened?" She groaned.

John shrugged as he knelt down beside her, sliding his hand under the back of her head, and began checking her over for any signs of a concussion.

"You tell us," he said, as he peered into her eyes, checking to see if her pupils were dilated. "One second you were at the table and the nex- "

"Depersonalisation." Sherlock interrupted, in his usual nonchalant tone, standing up and heading towards the counter, before turning to talk to the waitress behind the counter.

The two of them looked at each other and John shook his head in confusion.

"English, Sherlock." John said.

"It is when we enter state in which we cannot tell whether we are really present or are simply watching an event that has either happened to us or will happen to us."

"So, something similar to a state of REM sleep where the body is unconscious but the mind is not." She replied, her tone taking the form of both a statement and a question.

"Precisely." Sherlock grinned, happy that someone in his vicinity understood what he was talking about. "It is more commonly referred to as "zoning out." Sound familiar?"

John snapped his head in the women's direction, a mix of confusion and shock flooding his face. That was new. How she had managed to understand what Sherlock was talking about?

John frowned, staring at his patient and quickly shook the thought out of his mind as he returned to examining her over. He continued in his assessment but there was something off. The expression on her face told him that even she hadn't expected herself to answer the way she did. Her face had gone pale with shock from the fall and she was slowly regaining colour in her skin.

Embarrassment overwhelmed her as she pushed herself so she was sitting up. The eyes of those eating their lunch still upon her. Wondering who she was, whether she was drunk or on some of kind drug high. It wasn't until now did she realise just how exposed she felt. It was extremely disconcerting.

"You alright?" Sherlock asked, as returned to her side, already knowing the answer.

The tears were slowly beginning to well in her dark brown orbs and Sherlock knew it was time to get out of there. He ran a soothing hand down her arm, taking both her hands and helped her to her feet, guiding her out of the café. John picked up the chair she had fell back from as he quickly made a few apologies to those who still looked a little traumatised from what had happened and he scooted out of the café. By the time he caught up with the two of them, Sherlock was unlocking the door to his flat, his arm securing the girl to his side.

The sound of the key entering the lock brought a small sense of relief to the girl and they entered 221B seconds later, Sherlock guiding her to the sofa.

" _Good. No Mrs Hudson."_ John thought as stepped through the threshold, closing the door behind him.

At least there wouldn't be any nonsensical questions they'd have no choice but to answer. John made his way into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. The best thing to help handle a situation like this was tea. Typical British coping mechanism. John returned a few minutes later with a nice hot cup, which he handed to the woman, still pale as the clouds in the sky above them. She took a sip and nodded in thanks and the hot liquid slid down her throat.

"Now," Sherlock began, as he sat in his chair and brought his palms together under his chin. "Tell me what you saw."

* * *

 **221B Baker Street**

" _Don't they say that if you die in your dream, you can die in real life?"_

"Well, that depends," Sherlock answered.

She looked up and her eyes widened and then quickly squinted as her eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

"You said that out loud." John told her, noticing how muddled she was.

She gave a light smile and entwined her fingers together. Sherlock could see how shaken she was and he wasn't sure what to say next. He turned to John who shrugged and headed into the kitchen. This was starting to get even more confusing for her with each passing hour and they were still no closer to finding out anything about her. This certainly wasn't doing anything for her morale. This was something that she was beginning to lose hope in.

Her mind was beginning to crack with the…lack of progress that had been made and she was sure it was only a matter of time before the two men, well one John was still yet to voice his opinion on the matter, who had agreed to help her did too.

"I can't help you until you tell me what happened. I won't judge you if that's what you're thinking."

The girl chuckled at the form of comfort Sherlock had offered. Something she had come to realise he could only be granted the term of a novice.

"Quite the opposite actually. I'm more scared that if I tell you, it'll just make what I saw more…real, in a sense."

Sherlock reached forward and took hold of her hands.

He was unsure of what to say. Of how to comfort her, how to assure her she wasn't going mad. He could see she what this was doing to her, how it had stripped away everything she knew. She was bare, like the way a kid was. But, neither did she. How does one explain that you no longer feel as though your mind is your own? Her dream hadn't felt like a dream or a "zone out" at all. It felt like a vision of some sort. As though her memory was coming back to her, but the problem was it felt like something out of an action movie there was no way it could have happened.

She ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes. Her mind had to have been playing tricks on her. Messing around because it had nothing better to do, and to be honest, neither did she. She couldn't exactly go to work because she couldn't remember where that was. She certainly couldn't go home because that was another location she couldn't remember. There was no point even mentioning the issue with her name. She wanted to scream and cry and punch anything she could get her hands on.

"Hey," Sherlock called, softly, "You'll be fine. We'll figure it out, I promise. But I need you to tell me what happened."

The two locked eyes and Sherlock could see the fear flooding her chocolate brown orbs. He'd seen fear in people before, but this was something else. Everything this woman was right now, was in this flat. With people she had only known for a few days, and that scared her. He could see it wasn't just a fear of the unknown but a fear of people.

"Whatever job you do, you're alone."

"What?"

"You're alone in the world, aren't you? You're not used to being around other people and whenever you are, you're never vulnerable. Not to this scale, at least. You don't like the fact that your life is in someone else's hands, in fact you hate it. You're out of your comfort zone and that frustrates you because you've been taught not to get into a situation where you aren't in control of yourself and your life."

Her eyes welled up and she had mouth had gone dry. She heard Sherlock was a man able to make detailed accounts of someone, but she hadn't realised they were _**this**_ detailed. How on earth had he managed to come to all that?

"From just a look?"

Sherlock nodded, deciding it was better not to go on about his talents. Now was not the time.

She flicked her gaze between Sherlock and John, who gave her a light smile, between these two men who had protected her and vowed to help her and a wave of calm take her over. Even though she was more confused than she had ever been and contemplating if she was losing her every strand of sanity she had left, there was something about them both. Perhaps, it was because of Sherlock's eccentricity and John's casual calm demeanour. Or because the two of them added with Mrs Hudson were the most unlikely trio she had ever encountered. She couldn't put a finger on it but there was a sense of home here. A sense of familiarity that she couldn't help but resonate with, and that was all she needed.

She turned to look at John, as he sat down in his chair, nodding his head in Sherlock's direction and she inhaled a sharp but nervous intake of breath.

" _Here goes nothing…"_ she told herself as she began to tell them both of what had happened.

John stood there while Sherlock listened intently, a part of him feeling sorry for her, the other wanting her to be far away from them as possible. Not because he was jealous, he was far from it, but because there was something about her. Something he was yet to figure out. It felt as though they had encountered something that wasn't supposed to be touched upon. Something that felt way out of their league. Although, when it came to Sherlock nothing was ever really out his league.

Whatever it was, John's gut instinct was telling not to him pursue this, but he had no choice. Well, he did, but he knew that Sherlock was going to need him at some point, so it was just better to keep alongside them. And easier. Someone was going to have keep him from getting too involved in whatever this was.

"Right, time for a road trip." Sherlock said, bouncing around the room for his coat.

"Road trip?" John asked, glancing at the time. He had a date with Mary he couldn't afford to miss today. Today was the day of her first scan and he couldn't afford to miss that.

"I have an idea that might help us make some light on the situation and get us a little closer to solving the case of our very own Jane Doe here. But first, you need a change of clothes."

John raised an eyebrow and wondered what Sherlock had in mind, whenever he was buzzing around the room, it meant he was about to go somewhere that allowed him to start a monologue about something that only he understood.

"Jane Doe? Really?" She asked, as she slipped into the jacket Sherlock had gotten from Mrs Hudson.

"Well, it's better than calling you the-Unconscious-Woman-I-found-covered-in-blood. Unless you'd prefer I call you that."

Rolling her eyes, Jane Doe made her way down the stairs, Sherlock about to follow but John pulled him back.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" He whispered, to which Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, I do, John. I wouldn't have taken on the case if I didn't, which never happens anyway, so there we go. What's your point?"

John glanced over Sherlock's shoulder and pulled further into the flat.

"Because I don't want to end getting another call from Mycroft to say they're extraditing you again, and for good this time!"

Sherlock smiled and placed a comforting hand on John's shoulder. The way John revealed his sense of concern was one the things Sherlock always found admirable about the veteran. Even if people sometimes mistook it for romantic tendencies.

"Oh come on, John. We both know that's not going to happen. Now, will you please calm down and get off to your baby event with Mary please?" He replied, heading out of the flat and down the stairs.

John went to ask how Sherlock knew but realised he didn't want to know. He probably figured out from one of his usual assessments of people, and he didn't fancy listening to Sherlock unpick his clothes or dissect his posture. Not today.

John followed his best friend out onto Baker Street to find that the girl was failing to wave down a taxi. Sherlock extended the collar of his jacket and threw his hand in the air.

"Taxi!" he bellowed, the command in his voice stopping a black vehicle instantly.

The girl turned to John and the two of them rolled their eyes as a smug grin beamed across Sherlock's face as he opened the door for the girl to enter the taxi first. She waited as she looked at John, her eyebrows furrowing as she wondered why he hadn't entered the waiting car.

"Are you not...?" She trailed off, gesturing to the seats at the back.

"Mary's having her scan today." He replied, shaking his head. "Can't afford to miss it unless I want to be shot." John replied, glancing at Sherlock.

The detective rubbing a hand across the scar on his chest as the memory of seeing his best friend's wife behind the trigger of what almost killed him a while back.

"Show me a picture?" she smiled, to which John nodded before she disappeared into the car, Sherlock following suit.

"Might want to check your pockets, John." Sherlock told him as he closed the door behind him.

John waved at the taxi as it passed him and he made his way down the street. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to send a text to Mary informing her he was on his way. As he sent the text and slipped his phone back into his pocket, he realised that it felt a little empty.

"Damn it," he sighed, as the realisation of Sherlock's words had hit him.

Well, there goes getting a taxi.

He stepped out onto the road, only to jump back as a black car came to a stop in front of him. The door opened and there was Andrea sitting inside, typing away on her phone.

"Any closer and you'd have run me over."

"Just get in, Dr Watson." Andrea commanded, rolling her eyes.

John hesitated for a moment, before stepping into the car and closing the door behind him.

* * *

 **Mycroft's Office - London**

Twenty minutes later he found himself sitting in the leather chair opposite Sherlock's least favourite person in the world. Well, besides Moriarty, of course.

"Can we keep this short? I have a da- "

"A date with Mrs Watson, yes, I know." Mycroft interrupted. "It's precisely why I asked you here."

John raised an eyebrow and tried to hold back a laugh.

There was always something about Mycroft's office that had him a little uneasy. Perhaps, it was just how typical it looked, but then again John always saw Mycroft as typical kind of man despite his job being the complete opposite. Maybe it was just the realisation of how different the Holmes brothers were from each other. Either way, the less time he spent here the better.

"Asked me? Where was the answer I'm supposed to have given?"

"Well, the fact you are sitting here has already confirmed you received my question, Dr Watson."

John shook his head and couldn't help but laugh. Mycroft really was full of it. The question was the arrival of his car, which almost ran him over a few moments ago. He wasn't sure why Mycroft had brought him here, but he figured it had something to do with Sherlock. It couldn't be anything else, the man was so secretive John wasn't even sure if Mycroft was his real name.

"Now, tell me how has my brother been as of late?"

"Why don't you just call him and ask? I'm sure he'd be more than happy to tell you himself."

Pulling open a drawer under his desk, Mycroft let out a short chuckle.

"Yes, but I'm asking you." He replied, as he pulled out a bottle of whiskey onto the table. "Drink?"

John held up his hand as a "no" and glanced at his watch. He was already 10 minutes late; Mary was going to kill him. He was never late. Never. Whatever this was, he needed it to be over and fast.

"Look, I don't really know why you've summoned me here." John said, standing up, "but whatever it is, I can't help you."

The war veteran stood up and headed for the door. He was not going to be a part of Mycroft's games. He couldn't deal with it. Whatever issues these two brothers had, they needed to sort it out themselves. He wasn't going to be a pawn in their games.

"If you're worrying about your wife wondering where you are, there's no need. She's already been informed that you won't be arriving." Mycroft told him nonchalantly.

John froze and turned around, his eyes seething with anger. This was precisely why he couldn't stand the man. Why he could understand why Sherlock never got on with him, although John has always stated he believes they're far too alike.

The war veteran crossed the room and seized the top of the chair he had been sitting on so hard his knuckles had turned white.

"Who told her?"

"I'm sure you recall Andrea texting away on her mobile when you entered the car earlier, yes?"

John turned back to look at the woman behind the desk now on the phone and bit his bottom lip in order to stop himself from swearing. He had been played into being here. As if the summoning wasn't enough.

"Listen," John said through gritted teeth. "I don't give a fart's arse why you've brought me here, but that is most certainly not on. So, if you don't mind I'm going to get out of here and go and be with my wife so I can see my child for the first time."

John headed back in the direction of the door only for Mycroft's voice to stop a second time.

"What do you know about Project Crystal?"

He frowned and raised an eyebrow. How on earth did he know about that? He was nowhere near the conversation they had had in the flat this morning, unless it was bugged. But Mycroft didn't really have much interest in what Sherlock did in his down time. Not unless it was "a matter of national security." Something didn't add up and now he found himself more confused than the girl was.

Mycroft took a sip of whiskey and poured John a drink, placing it on his side of the desk. He raised his eyes to look at the confusion across his face and a cold smirk was beaming cross his round face.

"Do sit down, Dr Watson. Imagine we have a lot to discuss."

* * *

 **ST. Bart's Hospital – London**

Molly Hooper stood in front of the Costa coffee machine waiting for her usual lunchtime shot of caffeine, her foot tapping away as the liquid sizzled into the Styrofoam cup. She was only a few hours into a 16-hour shift, so coffee was going to become her best friend, as it always was whenever she came into work. Work had been as it always was, intriguing and slow. Some days were better than others, of course. That was how life was, but there was one constant that was missing from her life. The last time she had heard from him, it was that he had been arrested for the murder of Charles Magnussen. She wasn't exactly jumping for joy when she got a call to find out he was being extradited to Germany. At least, it was better than jail, but it was far away from her and that was something she still hadn't dealt with. Even now four months later. She hadn't heard anything. As far as she knew, he could have been back on the homeless circuit and she wouldn't have any idea.

Sometimes, she had found herself imagining he was sitting in his usual spot and the conversations they would have. She even found herself talking to him aloud. It was moments like that, she was grateful she worked alone otherwise people would have thought she was going crazy. To be honest, most of her friends already did.

She dissected bodies for a living, if that wasn't crazy enough then this was on a whole different spectrum. She took a sip of her coffee and made her way down the corridor, the caffeine instantly rushing to her brain. As she rounded the corner, her ears picked up on a voice echoing from the direction of her lab and she came to a stop.

" _It…can't be?"_

Molly closed her eyes and tried to slow her now racing heartbeat, but to no avail. She took a deep breath and gave a slight shake of her head. Someone was in her lab. She was sure of it, there certainly wasn't anyone there when she left. Before she even realised, her feet were taking her down the corridor. Closer and closer, the familiar voice becoming louder and clearer as she closed the distance, taking over her every thought. There was no need for her to even try and figure out who it was, she recognised the deep tone instantly.

Part of her wanted to tell her feet to stop but she couldn't and soon enough her walk had turned into a slow jog. She reached the door to her lab within seconds and peaked through the window, catching sight of his dark curls. Giving her all the confirmation she needed that.

And there he was.

Sat in his usual spot in all his mysterious sexiness. His un-buttoned shirt, the black jacket, his curls framing his face, and those focused blue eyes. Molly was thankful for the wall she was now leaning against or else she'd had dropped right there and then.

She couldn't believe it. He was really there, in her lab, at his desk, working away. She had so many questions, so many slaps she wanted to give him and yet here she was, standing outside having a panic attack.

"Breathe, Molly, breathe." She reminded herself as she started pacing. "He's not going to even notice you. It'll be like nothing happened. It'll just go back to normal. Calm down. Open the door like it's a normal work day. That's all you need to do."

A quick check of her hair in her reflection and a gulp of her coffee, Molly was ready, or as close to ready, to meet the man who had been in her mind every single day from the last moment she had seen him.

The next moments felt like a slow-motion scene from a film. Molly's hand enclosed around the handle and she exerted the right amount of force to push the door open. Her free arm brought the hot coffee to her lips so she could hide the beaming smile that was teasing to break out across her face. It was a good thing she had the coffee after all, or else Sherlock would have seen her smile falter within seconds as she turned to look at him.

There he was, yammering away but it was what, well who was next to him that surprised her. It wasn't John, it wasn't even a man. But, in fact, a woman. A woman who was sat, eyes closed, while Sherlock ran his hands over her face. In that second, Molly's hand lost all sense of how to hold a cup and she could only watch as it fell from her hand and the hot liquid spilled out across the floor.

* * *

 **AN: There we have it. Hope you all enjoyed it! Please don't get to review and add to your favourites.**

 **Feel free to check out my other stories!**

 **See ya next chapter!**

 **XxPikaSixJoyxX**


	3. Inside My Head

**AN: It's been so long I don't even know how to open this chapter. I ended up with writer's block (a usual occurrence for me) and it lasted for so long I wasn't even sure I'd be able to get back into this story. Then I started 2 new jobs, rehearsals for a show as well. The last 12 months have been crazy.**

 **But thankfully my last job somehow manged to give me the idea for the last half of this chapter and I'm now back to writing, so hopefully I can start updating more regularly.**

 **Well, there isn't much else to say but enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Inside My Head**

 **John and Mary Watson's Home - London**

Tonight was unseemly quiet. There were no stars beaming down at him. No wind brushing across his skin. The air was quiet. Too quiet. John tilted his head back, downing his third glass of whiskey as he looked up at the empty sky above him. It was as if the weather knew that he needed time to contemplate. And as eerie as it was, John was grateful for the lack of ambience given everything Mycroft had told him.

Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. The man who seemed to treat everyone he spoke to as though they were bugs waiting to be stepped on.

Anything he had to say was never good. Ever. In the times that John had encountered the cynical middle class man, any words that passed his lips were either jibs, insults, or facts about how someone had gotten hold of something they shouldn't have. Effectively, John shouldn't have been as surprised as he was when Mycroft informed him about Project Crystal and its details, and yet he was all the same.

The war veteran huffed, shaking his head as the words of the elder Holmes brother ran through his head over and over like a song on repeat. It was one of those stories that sounded too good to be true. Something you would only ever expect to see in a James Bond film. He couldn't believe it. The only difference was it wasn't a fantasy; it was reality. A reality John now had to accept.

Project Crystal.

A phrase he had only heard her use. The Girl with No Name. The fact that she had mentioned it in her dream just several hours before his meeting with Mycroft seemed more than just a coincidence. Coincidence and Mycroft in the same sentence hardly ever occurred. From what Mycroft told him it was…well, to be honest, he still wasn't sure what is was. Only that it was important and dangerous, which seemed to be the case whenever Mycroft was involved.

" _A matter of national security_ " as he put it.

John couldn't help but be filled with uncertainty when it came to the amnesiac they had found in Sherlock's flat three days ago, if he couldn't trust her when he first met her, he certainly wasn't going to now. Especially given what Mycroft had told him, which, in fact, wasn't that much but it was enough.

He felt as though he was back in the same situation he was in when Irene Adler was still walking the earth. Only this time it felt closer to home. Having Sherlock right at the centre of this tale again meant John was going to have be smart. Smarter than usual.

The real question, the _**only**_ question, was whether he was going to tell Sherlock. Of course, he knew that the man would know he had been to see his brother. John wasn't exactly the best of liars, not to mention Sherlock's heightened sense of deduction. There was no hiding that. No, this most definitely wasn't going to be easy trying to keep something like this from Sherlock. The man could spot a lie like a needle in a haystack. How he was going to get past that was something John was going to have work out as each day passed.

This girl, whoever she was, knew more than she was letting on. He was sure of that, at least. What he wasn't sure of was what was on the next page of this already crazy journey. The only thing he had going for him was his determination to get to the bottom of this muddled puzzle. Whether that was going to be enough to keep him going was something that could only be confirmed as they unravelled this web of mystery.

"John?" Mary called from inside their house.

The veteran turned to see his wife standing in the doorway, head resting against the door, concern across her face. "What are you doing up at this time of night?"

"No reason. Just can't sleep."

Mary gave a light smile and shook her head as she chuckled.

"It's a good thing I didn't marry you for being a great liar." She smiled, pulling her silk dressing gown around her middle. "You're terrible at it."

Rolling his eyes, John finished his glass of whiskey and sighed. He turned back to his wife and almost bumped into her extended hand. He took a moment and before entwining their fingers and heading back into the living room. As John walked past, Mary pulled on his hand so he faced her.

"Whatever it is, tell him. I know what you do when you keep things from him. Just tell him."

John nodded, softly pressing his lips to his wife's head before ascending the stairs to their bedroom.

 _Why are women always right?_

* * *

 **St. Barts Hospital - London**

He seemed different. The fact that Sherlock was sitting a few feet away from the pathologist after being exiled from the country no longer mattered. The first thing she had noticed was how different he was. There was something about the woman he had brought with him that had turned him into a different someone Molly could no longer recognise. As she sat watching him interact with this woman, she was beginning to doubt whether this was Sherlock Holmes. The man who barely even looked at women unless they were either dead or if he was showing off his cognitive skills. The only woman he seemed to show any emotional interest in was dead. Supposedly. A memory that stilled pained the pathologist, no matter how hard she tried to push it from her mind.

Molly had so many questions. So many dots she needed connected. About Sherlock. About them both, but they were being trumped by this woman Sherlock seemed so…interested in. Molly couldn't help but feel the pangs of jealousy return in an instant. She always knew that he was never going to see her in the same light she saw him and she had accepted that, as hard as it was to do so. She had done so all the same. But that didn't mean it still didn't hurt seeing him act the way he was with someone else.

Yet, here he was, with another woman who he seemed to have his complete attention without even saying so much as a word. The more Molly studied the woman's features, the more she realised just how vulnerable she looked. It was as though something was missing in her life. Like a void that was waiting to be fixed and whatever it was, it seemed to be a big part of who she was. Her entire demeanour seemed off because of it. Now the pathologist found herself wanting to give this woman a hug, to wrap her arms around her and give her kind, supportive words but she knew it wasn't going to do any good. So, she just resorted to the typical British coping mechanism when no one could think of anything else to say in such a situation.

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

The woman's eyes locked with Molly's and her eyebrows furrowed. A small silence passed and Molly realised she hadn't said it loud enough.

"Tea. Would you like one? I know I've just made a coffee and well…it doesn't really taste nice, so I'm gonna go get a tea. Much better than the coffee. You fancy coming?"

The woman glanced in Sherlock's direction, who was still typing away in the corner. She hesitated, as if she was waiting for a reaction from him, before sliding off her stool and following Molly to the door.

The two women walked down the corridor in complete silence. Neither knowing what exactly to say. Molly wasn't entirely sure as to why she had asked her if she wanted to come. For some reason, it felt right to her. It gave her more of a chance to get to know this woman and what better way to do that than a good old cup of tea. Besides, it wasn't as if Sherlock was providing her with stimulating conversation. He had barely said a word to her in the hour that they had been sitting in the lab.

"I know he can be a bit frustrating at times, can't he?" Molly said, her attempt of making a joke falling just short of her expectations.

"Actually, for what I've heard about him he's not as bad as I presumed he would be."

"So…you know, err…you know Sherlock, then?" Molly asked, her curiosity beginning to peak.

"Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"Well, let's just say we're acquaintances…of some sort."

Molly frowned, a little confused and a part of her wasn't sure if she wanted to know any more so she just nodded and turned her gaze to the floor.

Sherlock was still typing away by the time they returned from their trip. They sat in an awkward silence which was broken moments later by Sherlock slamming his fist on the table he was sitting at. The sound of which caused both women to jump and spill their drinks.

"What's he hiding?" Sherlock asked, running a hand through his dark curls. "Something's not right. Something's missing."

Shaking her head, Molly returned to her work. She knew there was no point in asking, she'd end up finding out whatever Sherlock was working on. Whether she wanted to know or not. That's just how he was.

The sociopath looked up and locked eyes with the woman sitting next to him. He was still trying to figure out exactly how she fit into whatever it was Mycroft was keeping from him. There was something about her presence that put him in a place he never usually allowed himself to go. A place he viewed as a distraction from the task at hand. Another run through of his dark brown curls and he got his head back into the game. This woman, whoever she was, had come to him for a reason. It wasn't as simple as her finding her way to his house because of his reputation. She needed what almost everyone needed when they came to him. His help.

There was no doubt about that, and he knew it was to help her regain a piece of her identity that had seemingly dissipated into thin air. But, Sherlock knew that it was more than just that. His every instinct was telling him so. The only unfortunate thing was every avenue he was taking seemed to leading him to dead ends.

He closed his eyes and brought the palms of his hands together underneath his chin. When he opened his eyes, the elusive detective was standing in back in his bedroom. Jane Doe, as they were now calling her, asleep in his bed. He turned and looked and saw Mrs Hudson heading downstairs with the bag of damp clothing he had handed to her that night. Sherlock watched her leave and shook his head, closing his eyes again.

"Need to go back further." He said, holding his hands out in front of him as though he was holding a box. He pushed his hands through the air, sifting the scene he was standing in to side. It looked as though he was in the middle of a film scene on rewind. Everything moved backwards, playing in reverse. Mrs Hudson handed him back the bag, John walked backwards down the hall and waited in the small living room and Sherlock returned Jane back to her unconscious position in the bath.

By the time, Sherlock opened his eyes, he was stood in the bathroom, looking at a frozen moment in time. There he was, holding the top of Jane as he turned to put it in the bag, he had pulled from the cupboard. Kneeling next to himself, Sherlock leant towards the top and inspected the item of clothing. Despite the blood, Sherlock's perceptive eyes picked up a small speck on sleeve of her t-shirt. He pulled out his small magnifier, opening it up to get a closer look. It was the fragment of mirror. He found a few more and mentally pieced them together, smiling when pulled back.

"Sherlock?" A voice called him as he stood up.

He turned around to see who it was, only to be faced with the door. Frowning Sherlock went to open the door but the voice called him a second time.

"Sherlock?"

Turning around again, he saw Jane sitting in the bath, in the clothes she was wearing in the lab. He took a moment and lowered his head to the floor, and when he raised his head, he was back in the lab eyes locked with the raven-haired girl who had become his ward over the past few days.

"Right now, if I ask you to think back to that night what is the first thing you remember?"

The woman frowned and tilted her head as she watched Sherlock jump up from his seat and begin to pace the room. She took a moment and shifted in her seat, allowing her mind to drift back to the night she ended up in Sherlock's house and instantly brought her hand across her nose, trying to stop herself from gagging.

"Blood," she replied. The red pungent substance instantly filling her senses.

Her first thought when she came around and saw herself covered in the liquid was whether it was hers or someone else's. A question she still hadn't been able to answer, much to her discretion.

The silence from the consultant detective told her he was waiting for more answers, but unfortunately, she couldn't give him any. Her heartbeat was already racing and her stomach had dropped. A cold chill rather through her and she shivered as her breath began to loosen and she felt weak. Vulnerable. A feeling she hated with her very core.

"I…I…please…" was all she could say.

He quickly came to a stop, and glanced at her, realising his current location was not the place to be doing what he was about to engage in. Pulling his seat closer towards her, Sherlock sat down and placed his fingers on either side of her temple, only for her to slide off her seat and back into a counter behind her.

"I…can't remember anything else." She told him, though they both knew it was a lie.

Well…more of a half-truth. It wasn't the fact she couldn't remember, because she couldn't. But the sense of fear she had just felt scared her more than anything right now and she wasn't sure if she was ready to experience that for a second time. If that dream she had whilst they were in the café had taught her anything it was that whatever had happened to her put her in a place of vulnerability that made her extremely uncomfortable to say the least.

Sherlock tapped the seat in front of him and lightly smiled. He knew what he was asking was going to be something of an uncomfortable experience for her but it was something that had to be done for them to get any closer to unravelling this case. As if it wasn't complicated enough already. But she didn't move, she couldn't. Softening his gaze, Sherlock shifted his chair back so at to put some distance between them. He couldn't force her into this, it had to be done of her own volition and he knew that she wanted answers just as much as he did, but he could tell she was scared about what those answers could mean. Going back to an experience where the only memory you had was blood meant a million different things and he understood that she was scared, but he there was no other way to do this.

"Trust me." He assured her.

Could she trust him? This man who she only knew through newspaper articles and 90 second news segments?

" _Who am I kidding? It's not exactly like I have any other choice."_

Retaking her seat, Sherlock reached for her temple again but slowly ran his thumbs in small circles on either side of her forehead to calm her. He remembered seeing Mary do so to John during their rehearsal dinner and thought it would work. To tell the truth, he thought it was weird. He understood the mechanics of it, of course, yet it didn't change his opinion of it all the same. He had no problems with intimacy or engaging in it, he only used it when it was necessary to further a case. This course of action he was currently performing was one of those things. He still saw romance, love and all its connections as a distraction. It caused people to change and he had no time for it, nor did he want to make the time for it. Or at least Sherlock seemed to think so.

The two of them sat there for what seemed like hours, although in fact it was most likely a few minutes, any sense of resistance no longer emanating from her, engaged in this weird ritual of sorts. It was weird for Sherlock; he hadn't known this woman for an entire week and he felt as though he knew her. Something shifted between them, as they sat there. The connection he had with her upon their first meeting seemed to be similar when he had first met Irene Adler. The mysterious awe to her, the unspoken words left in the air, the same sense of familiarity despite this being the first time either had been in each other's presence. Sherlock frowned as he looked upon this woman opposite him, trying to figure her out. He realised that the connection from his hands, the action with which they were moving was probably sending signals he had not wanted to send.

Quickly dropping his hands from her face, Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialled a number.

"I have an idea and it's one that means you might end up hating me for the rest of your life." Sherlock told her as he finished inputting the number and pressing the "Call" button.

"I think we've already discovered that I don't have any other choice, so do what you need to do." She told him just as the person on the other end of the phone picked up.

"George." Sherlock began.

"It's Greg."

"I need you run a search for any subway mirrors that were repaired within the last week, and bring the information to me at my house." He continued, ignoring Greg's correction.

"What? Why do you want me to run that?"

"Just do it." Sherlock snapped, hanging up before allowing Greg to ask another question.

Turning to Molly, who was still gaping at him from watching his temple exchange with Jane moments ago.

"Lamps. Where are they?"

Frowning, Molly turned to look at him, a look of confusion flooding her face.

"Why? What are you going to do with it?"

"Something that I believe will help. Can you get me one?" He asked, heading back to his chair for his coat.

Nodding, Molly disappeared out of the room and returned moments later with a large floor lamp, wheeling it over to him and then returning to her work. She would have asked another question but her previous experience with him told her there would be no point. Sherlock wasn't one to openly divulge information about the things he was doing unless he wanted people to know.

"Right, let's go. Enjoy your patient, Molly." The detective told her, heading for the door.

"You should do that more often."

All the while Molly Hooper was watching with intensive eyes, wondering what on earth this woman had done to the Sherlock Holmes she was used to.

* * *

 **221B Baker Street – Later That Evening**

John entered the flat to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, palms together underneath his chin.

"Ah, John. Glad you finally join us." Sherlock greeted sarcastically. "Mary okay?"

"Hmm. What? Oh fine. Yeah, she's fine."

John frowned as he looked at the floor and saw "Jane Doe" sitting on the floor, eyes closed, handcuffed to one of the legs of the kitchen table. The surrounding floor covered in what John could only assume was blood. He spotted a floor lamp beaming down upon her as he flicked his gaze between her current position and the empty chair in which their clients usually sat a few times before settling on Sherlock.

"Do I even want to know what's going on right now?" John asked to no answer.

The war veteran kept his position as he stood and watched his friend focus on what he could only describe as some form of role-play. Whatever Sherlock was doing right now, he had no idea. He always seemed to do things that John could never understand.

"Sherlock, what in the world are you doing?"

Before Sherlock could answer, a guttural scream came from the seemingly unconscious woman on the floor. John's training kicked in and he went to head towards her, only for Sherlock to pull him back.

"Don't John! She's not awake." He warned.

"Not awake? What the bloody hell have you done to her, Sherlock?"

"Just wait, John."

Turning to look back at the girl in their care, John clenched his fists to keep him tied to where he was standing. He hated it when Sherlock did things like this. He was used to it, mind you, but that didn't mean he still didn't like it. Whatever this was, he hoped that it was going to get them some progress because this case was being to head down to a dead end.

"Sherlock, I hope you know what you're bloody well doing." John retorted, knowing that Sherlock would pick up on his current frustration.

"Just…wait."

* * *

 _The sharp pain in her head, added with the severe lack of strength she was feeling made her almost feel glad for the chains that were keeping her suspended. The last amount of strength she did have, she was using to keep her head up so, at least she didn't look as though she had lost all her strength. As for the amount of time she'd been in her current state, she had no idea. It was most likely in double figures in terms of hours, but that didn't matter. Her main focus was on attempting to save the strength she knew she had already lost. Whoever was holding her captive had already planned what they were going to do, that much she knew. Everything that had already happened to her; the handcuffs to the pipe, the meticulous dunking, and now this had been on a schedule from what she could work out. She may not have known the exact time of day but the time in between each stage of torture had been very similar._

 _Not one question had been asked of her, not that she would have told them anyway. It told her that they already knew everything they needed to know. They were trying to break her, but not in the way you saw in the movies Hollywood made. Nothing like Bond's torture in Die Another Day or Casino Royale, especially not the latter. She had no balls to break. Well, least not physical ones. Instead, she was being left for hours upon hours just for the sake of it. No rescue coming for her, she knew that from the second she was caught._

 _There was no stealthy breakout or extreme shootout involving all kinds of heroic moves. No nightmare room filled with poisonous insects or reptiles of any kind. In fact, this entire ordeal was boring. It was the one thing she remembered being told in training._

" _Training?" A voice repeated._

" _Did you write that down?" Another voice asked._

" _Why's she said that?"_

" _Oh, for goodness sake, if you haven't figured that out then you obviously haven't learnt anything from me at all."_

" _Since when were you supposed to be teaching me?"_

 _Before she could even question the voices that were coming from her head, she felt a hand slide around her neck cutting off her air supply. Typically, a gasp would have passed through anyone's lips due to the sudden, unexpected touch. However, she barely had enough energy to keep her eyes open, let alone release a wasted breath of air. Her lack of reaction, however, surprised the unknown assailant standing behind her, hand still clasped around her neck._

" _No sound? No cry for help? No last-minute prayer to he who made the world?" The man asked as he applied a small amount of pressure to her neck. "He taught you well. It seems you've learnt from the best."_

 _She forced her eyes open as he slowly ran his thumb up and down her throat. She frowned as the realisation came to her that she'd heard this man's voice before, she was sure of it. There was something familiar about the tone. The slight rough gravel whenever he used consonants. Given her current energy levels she wasn't in the state to question anything else about it._

" _Now, there's two ways I can go about this. I could kill you, which, although tempting, is too easy and a complete waste of time. Why keep you all this time to kill you when I could have done that the second you were caught? No, I can't do that. I think you've realised there is no heroic rescue coming your way, I know you realised the second you knew you cover was blown."_

 _She rolled her eyes as he stood in front of her, taunting her. All she wanted to do was sleep, not listen to him go off on some villain's tangent. If she wanted one of those, she could watch an episode of Scandal and listen to one of Rowan Pope's many soliloquy's._

" _Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you? The stereotypical villain speech. Maybe I should add in a nefarious laugh at the end, but then, what exactly makes me the villain in this story?" He asked as he began to circle her, coming to stand behind her, his free hand wrapping around her matted clump of hair._

" _It was you who infiltrated this building. It was you who was looking to steal something from me. It was you who ended up killing two of my guards before you were caught, so who's the real villain here?"_

 _His question had some merit to it. To him, it did look as though she was the antagonist in the situation. Yet, the torture wasn't something associated with protagonists, so that answered that._

" _I suppose you're wondering how the things you've been put through still qualify me as the hero of this little story, right?" He asked, to which she frowned._

 _He'd done it again._

 _Somehow, without her even saying so much as a word or moving a muscle, he knew exactly what she was thinking. He wasn't a mind reader, they don't exist, she knew that much, at least. But it was still something that completely bewildered her. It didn't help she barely had the strength to keep her mind on the conversation, so it looked as though that was just going to have to stay an unsolved mystery at present._

" _Cause and effect, my dear." He answered. "Well, mostly your cause and your effect, but you get the idea."_

 _Something felt different about him being here. He wasn't here to gloat, or to ask her questions, it was as though he was here to give her an explanation. A simple explanation and leave the interpretation up to her. It was strange. Seizing a handful of her hair, the unknown man yanked her head back to look at him and raised it to look ahead, pointing to the opposite end of the room._

" _Mirror?" Have you got that, John?"_

 _There was it was again, the voices she knew weren't real. There was no else in the room except this unhinged man and herself. She hadn't been here that long for her mind to start unravelling, had she? Had she?_

 _She didn't get long to think as the man had started talking again._

" _This is the part where I'm supposed to say something clever, isn't it? Some witty one-liner that has more meaning than you realise and where I leave you in an empty room of ambiguity." He laughed, the mere thought of being that overdramatic seemed to tickle his humour in a way she couldn't grasp her head around._

" _No, no, I think I'll let this beautiful object here do the talking for me." He told her before disappearing behind her._

 _She paid close attention to his retreating footsteps to see if she could determine how far into the room she was, but after no more than 5 steps he stopped. Allowing her head to rest on her bicep, she waited for the sound of a closing door but no sound came. It took her longer than it should have for her to realise he was still in the room._

 _Focusing her gaze in the direction he had pointed, she was greeted with a large ornate golden mirror that took up the entire wall she was facing. It wasn't until she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror did she finally realise what all this was for. He wasn't going to do anything to break her. Thanks to this obviously expensive mirror that looked as though the only way it could have been acquired was via auction, she was going to break herself._

* * *

 **AN: There we go! Please don't forget to review and add to your favourites!**

 **Feel free to read my other stories!**

 **See you all soon.**

 **xXPikaSixJoyXx**


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